Imagine my surprise when roughly seven weeks (not three months) after my injury, my cast was removed and I started walking in a boot. Then multiply that surprise by about a hundred when earlier this week --72 days after The Unfortunate Incident -- I began walking completely unassisted!
This whole ordeal has been hugely inconvenient and at times very painful, but I'm told that I've made it through the worst. I still have a lot of work to do and I'm looking at possibly another nine months or so before I'm feeling "normal" again, but apparently to have made this much progress in such a short amount of time is totally unprecedented. In fact, my doctor went so far as to say that he has never seen such a smooth recovery from this type of injury.
Take that Mehmet Okur!
As wonderful as it is to be walking again, there are a few less-than-pleasant aspects to it as well. When I graduated from crutches to the walking boot, I discovered that I'd lost muscles I never knew I had in the first place. You know how they say if you don't use it, you lose it? Well, let me tell ya, they aren't kidding. Calling those muscles back into action was uncomfortable, to say the least. And after taking away the support and stability provided by the boot, those muscles have had to work even harder. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't painful. I've experienced more pain in the past couple days than I've dealt with since that first week after the injury/surgery.
Wednesday was my first day walking without the boot. It started out okay, but by the end of my work day (which, for the record, was about 3 hours shorter than a typical day) I was HURTING. When I got home, all I wanted to do was put my feet up and relax, but the universe had other plans. It wasn't until few hours, a trip to the grocery store, and one phone call to Poison Control later (apparently as long as nothing is actually glued shut or together, you don't have to be too awfully concerned when your child gets a mouthful of super glue... more on that later) that I finally had the chance to get off my feet.
And that's when I saw it.
I had an honest to goodness, full-fledged CANKLE. The likes of which have not been seen around here since I decided to wear heels to a wedding (which turned out to be an all day event) when I was seven and a half months pregnant. In fact, that's exactly what Adam called it when he saw it -- a pregnant lady cankle. To which my response was, "Ugh. I hate it when I look pregnant in the foot!"
Apparently all the extra movement and weight bearing is still a little too much for that foot and so, to protest, it ballooned right up and threatened to shoot anyone who dared to touch it. Even today, everything from my knee to my toes is swollen and achy. So achy that I can't even ask for a massage because it would just hurt too much. I suppose it's going to take some time for that area of my body to get back into the swing of things. Until then, Adam insists that I cover that "pregnant lady cankle" up when we go out.
And I suppose he's right. After all, we wouldn't want people to see my swollen ankle and start spreading rumors that I'm pregnant.